


This Is Just Garbage This Isn't Even A Title Y'all

by cecilantro



Series: 100 Days Of Ficlets [10]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: its nowhere near up to my usual scratch yall





	This Is Just Garbage This Isn't Even A Title Y'all

**Author's Note:**

> im so out of ideas so have uhhh,,, a mess

It turned out that making out with Beau was a lot like playing the strip version of boulder, parchment, shears.   
Clothes were torn off and flew across the room, the heat and tension was electric, Nott was there.   
Not partaking, or even really truly aware of quite what the fuck was going on, but there. On her bed. Fiddling with something or other whilst Beau and Jester loudly banged around the other side of the room.   
Jester gave Beau a pretty gasp as the monk lifted her breezily and carried her to the bed. There was the heavy taste of whiskey on Beau’s tongue, most likely Caleb’s influence. (Despite their common clashes in personality, the two would take from one another in a push-and-pull.)   
“Wait.” Jester held her hands up to Beau as the monk, half-naked, began to clamber onto the bed.   
On the other side of the room, Nott leaned forward to tip just the right amount of her sulphur into a brazier.    
“What- what’s up? Did I do somethin’?” Beau froze in place, hovering. Jester shook her head, laid her hands gently on Beau’s bare shoulders and stroked her thumb rhythmically against her collarbone.   
“Nothing you’ve done, just not… right now.” Jester jerked her chin in a gesture toward Beau’s face, “Drinking.”   
“I’m still good.” Beau retorted, but she was swaying a little, and Jester shook her head again.   
“Not tonight!” She chirruped, and ghosted her fingers lightly across Beau’s skin and up her neck, “I’m always ready for cuddles, though.”   
Beau grinned and clambered over Jester’s legs to lie next to her under the covers,   
“That I can do.”   
Jester mirrored Beau’s expression, and took no more persuading to snuggle her face into Beau’s neck and wrap her arms around her, thanking The Traveller for every gift of an inch of skin, and the quick, brief kiss that Beau pressed to one of her horns as they shifted into place puzzle-piece style.   
“Night, Nott.” Beau called over, and Nott gave a hum in reply, totally focused on the brazier and the tiny fire she had started.

 

Caleb and Mollymauk were already downstairs when they wandered down the next morning, leaving Nott in bed snoring away. They guessed she had been up late again, making another batch of acid, judging by the careful litter at the end of her bed of the brazier and various filtration systems.   
“Did you?” Beau asked as soon as Molly was within earshot.   
“Did  _ you _ ?” he retorted, raising his eyes at Jester. The crown of her head was essentially a birds nest of matted hair. She flushed a little and moved to stroke it flat with her free hand- the other hand was held firmly in Beau’s grasp.   
“No.” Beau’s expression was flat and bored, essentially her default, but the ever-intuitive Mollymauk could pick up on the mask, if not what lay behind.   
He leaned across the table to pat her forearm.   
“Soon.” he assured her, and Caleb looked between the conversation and Jester for a moment.   
_ What? _ He mouthed at her, and she shrugged, splayed her free hand in confusion.   
_ Fuck if I know _ . She mouthed back.   
“Anyway,” Beau drawled, pulling a chair from the table beside them and spinning it skillfully so that she could sit, “Sleep well? Issues?”   
Molly looked to Caleb.

In his eyes, he saw almost a reflection of the memory, Caleb sitting bolt upright in bed shouting suddenly, electric of magic surging down his arms, his fingertips moving and glowing even as he awoke.   
“Casting in your sleep?” Mollymauk had asked him sleepily, and Caleb had turned to the shadow of him, breathing heavily. Molly had sat up, immediately, and pulled him into a tight hug that Caleb had furrowed into as though he could hide in the contact, in Molly, in the safety he gave.    
“Nothing I couldn’t take care of.” Molly smiled, fluid and confident, and Beau’s bored expression took on a slightly surprised edge. At one sharp, pointed grin from Molly, she backed up.   
“So how are my two favourite boys this morning?” Jester asked as she seated herself firmly in Beau’s lap and leaned on the table on her elbow, and Molly lifted his drink halfway to his mouth,   
“Not a boy.” He took a swig, watching her intently over the rim.   
“Men?”   
“Not that either.”   
“Never asked, really, what are ya, Molly?” Beau’s interest was apparent, uncharacteristic, and Molly pulled a face as he plonked his glass back down.   
“Fuck knows. Just not that.” And then a grin, he looked to Caleb to watch his reaction as he added, “I’m fabulous.”   
Caleb rolled his eyes, a small, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. Under the table, he laced his fingers with Molly’s.   
“Noted.” Beau told him, and Jester nodded,   
“Sorry. So how are my two favourite nerds this morning?”   
“I thought Beau was your favourite nerd?” The snipe came from Caleb, mischievous despite his quiet demeanour that morning. Jester gave a brief bark of laughter, squeezing Beau’s hand.   
“Beau is my favourite loser.” she proclaimed, and left it at an open end, sitting back and waiting for Caleb to reply. There was a hard glint in her eye, something was wrong, and she was going to weed it out and crunch it to pieces.   
Beau folded her free arm across her chest, frowning, and grumbling quietly about how she wasn’t a loser.   
“Hm.” Caleb put in his spacer when it became obvious that Jester wasn’t letting up, “I am good. Molly?”   
“Life is good.” Molly replied, honestly, and he caught Caleb’s eye.    
Fjord took this opportunity to step in, distracting Jester’s attention away from the gentle kiss Caleb pressed to Molly’s lips.   
“Mornin’ folks.” He greeted, slipping into a chair at the table. “How’d you sleep?”   
“Great.” Beau nodded, “Most comfortable sleep I’ve had in a while, actually.”   
“Ever with my horn stabbing you in the shoulder?” Jester asked, pouting, running her fingers over a small wound just below Beau’s collarbone. Beau shrugged,   
“Didn’t feel it.”   
“Caleb, Molly?” Fjord turned his attention to his other friends, and Molly grinned, waving the hand that Caleb wasn’t holding,   
“Interrupted, but not terrible.” he told Fjord, and Caleb hummed in what Fjord assumed was agreement, leaning in to Molly’s shoulder and closing his eyes.   
“Where’s Nott?”   
Caleb’s eyes shot open.   
“Nott!”   
“Shhhh.” Jester hushed him, “She’s sleeping, she was up late again.”   
“Really stockin’ up on that acid, that girl.” Beau nodded, “Could smell sulphur when we woke up. Was fuckin’ gross.”   
“I am  _ very _ glad we weren’t awake for the main event.” Jester agreed.   
Molly strained to look at Caleb without moving his head too far as Caleb nodded and sunk back against him.   
“If you’ll excuse me,” he told the remainder of the party, “I’ll be taking my partner back to our room to rest.”   
Caleb gave a breathy laugh, a smile,   
“Partner.”   
“Would you prefer soulmate?” Molly bantered as he swung an arm around Caleb’s waist and laid a hand at his hip, gentle over the still-angry scar from the manticore fight.    
“Have you tried  _ geliebte _ ?” Caleb jested back, and their conversation drew quieter as they wandered away, a laugh from Molly,   
“I don’t think I could pronounce that if I tried.”   
“You should try.”   
“G… geliptor.”   
“Hm. Close enough.”


End file.
